Small Beginnings
by Cynosist
Summary: Before becoming one of the world's most infamous white collar criminals, he was just Neal Caffrey, a man with small beginnings.
1. Surroundings

"Small Beginnings"

* * *

_Surroundings_

"Please tell me that was the last of it. Please," pleaded Kate, whilst setting down a burdensome box alongside several others.

"Actually, I think there's still a few more," replied Neal sarcastically with a growing smirk across his face, as he placed another box firmly on the floor. She playfully slapped him on the arm.

The couple gazed around at their new surroundings. The truth was inevitable; the place was pretty rough around the edges. Paint was peeling off the walls, and it just reeked of mildew. The apartment did have potential, however it was definitely a "fixer-upper." But not that they had the finances to do that - or at least at the moment, they didn't. Of course, they both had in mind that in time they'd set aside some money to spruce it up a bit.

Their place wasn't all that spacious. It consisted of the kitchen and living room (which were conjoined), a small bathroom off the living room, and a modest-sized bedroom. Just enough for two to live comfortably - or three uncomfortably.

They sat down on the couch in exasperation after all that work. Six floors they had to carry that thing, as it wouldn't fit in the elevator. Neal shifted closer towards Kate, and put his arm around her. She rested her head on his chest.

"Let's not do that again," Kate said. Neal smiled as in agreement.

Although their background wasn't exactly heartening - what with boxes strew everywhere and the fact the place wasn't "magnificent" to begin with - the atmosphere of the two of them together was precisely that, soothing and comforting.

After a few moments like this together on the couch, Neal suddenly sprang up with an idea forming in his head. _Just perfect..._

"I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?," she asked him.

"I won't be long," he answered, only to reiterate what he had previously said.

In a short moment, Neal was out the door, down the six flights of stairs, and had come in contact with the bustling city that lay just outside - perhaps this being if only one upside to living in Manhattan. He walked down the street and along the avenue, joining the many other New Yorkers going in their own separate directions. Though many people in this city hated the fact that it was so crowded, Neal took pleasure in it. He enjoyed observing people - who looked like they couldn't give a care about the world, who looked as if they owned the world.

Finally arriving at the store he was looking for, Neal stepped inside and approached the worker at the cashier.

"What can I help you with, sir?," asked the eager salesman.

"What can you recommend for a special evening?"

...

With the brown paper bag in hand, Neal slowly closed the apartment door behind him. It smelt like... febreeze? Kate must have sprayed it around the apartment to freshen things up. _Well that's one problem out of the way_, he thought to himself. Neal walked towards the couch, placed the bag on the coffee table, and sat down next to her. Without saying anything to her, he took the items out of the bag, revealing a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"Is that a _Bordeaux_? Honey, that's an expensive bottle of wine--," Kate began, but Neal interrupted her before she could even finish.

While pouring two glasses of the wine, he told her, "It's a special occasion," but it was obvious that answer would not suffice. Kate began to open her mouth as if to say something, but again, Neal cut her off. "Consider it a promise - a promise that things will get better. I know right now things aren't at its best, but I'm going to fix that. I swear." That answer seemed to do the trick, as when he handed her the glass of costly wine, she graciously accepted.

Kate took a sip. _I guess there's a reason it's so pricey_.

And suddenly through the thin walls of their apartment, music was heard. It was Miles Davis's "So What." Kate closed her eyes and her head fell back in discontentment. _Great, just great. It sounds like elevator music_, she thought. At the same time, she felt Neal get up off the couch. Kate opened her eyes to find a hand extended out in front of her.

"Might I have this dance?," Neal asked, with that charming aura of his.

And with his beautiful, bright, blue eyes and devilish smile, Neal was impossible to resist. She took his hand while smiling immensely, and they gently glided around their living room. For a short moment, their worries bled out. It was as if it were a fairy tale, but they suddenly had skipped to the happily ever after, completely bypassing the root of the problem. The music had long since stopped, but neither had noticed nor cared. It was a moment of bliss not wanting to fade to grey.

They stopped. And Kate starred into Neal's deep-set blue eyes, as he leaned in to gently kiss her. He tasted just as perfect as he had looked.

Both sat down on the couch, resuming their positions from earlier - his arm wrapped around her shoulder, and her head pressed against his chest. Only this time, they had their expensive wine, so they could pretend to be a rich couple, staring at a wall of nothingness.

* * *

Eh, so what do you think? I know, I know, SHORT. I hate it when it's short too. But this is just the introduction. (If I continue with this) I'll try to make the other chapters longer, however that isn't exactly my forte.  
I'd love to hear what you think, whether you thought it was crap or awesome.

--Cynosist.


	2. Longings

_Longings_

_

* * *

_

It was 6 AM when Neal Caffrey got up that morning. He took a little extra time in the shower, while shaving, and when fixing his hair. He wore his best suit and tie, and made sure to shine his shoes. That day was the one most typical men dreaded -- the first day of work. Yet Neal Caffrey was not your typical man. To him, the job was easy enough, it could practically get itself done. It wasn't narcissism, no. It was just confidence.

He took one look at himself in the mirror before leaving the apartment. Adorned in a sweater vest, he looked a bit geeky, but in his own cute way he pulled it off. His hair had that slight curl to it, and his liquid turquoise eyes were vibrant with excitement. It was the beginning of something new.

Seven-thirty AM and Neal was already on the A train headed to Washington Square East. His class was at 8:15 AM and he was only a couple of stops away.

Neal couldn't help but stare as a man walked onto the train cart. _Was he-- well, someone forgot their pants this morning._ Neal had to refrain himself from laughing at that moment. The stranger looked perfectly fine waist up, dressed in common business attire, but there was obviously something missing when you looked down a bit. The man just held onto the pole for support as the train picked up speed again, completely oblivious to the stares and whispers surrounding him. He looked as if he was just getting in from the night before.

Why did Neal feel like this was some sort of omen? His eyes quickly fell down, and he let out a small sigh of relief. _I'm good._ At least _he_ had his pants this morning...

...

"Jacques Lemaître was a French painter back in the 1850s. What almost seems stereotypical for most artists, his works weren't very much well known while he was alive but after his death, they became quite popular."

Neal sighed. He was wrong. Sparking these college students interests was like trying to light a fire without wood. But then again, art history isn't perhaps the most interesting topic. Most of them look like they're here because they wanted other classes were already full. _There's got to be someway to get their attention..._

"Didn't he have metamorphopsia?," asked someone in his class.

Someone who shows life! "Yes, yes he did," Neal asked him.

"No wonder his paintings were so fucked up...," mumbled the student, but he was still heard.

"Well you may feel that way, Mr. Kostopoulos, but to others it's value can pay your tuition ten times over." In response, the Mr. Kostopoulos just gave him a blank stare. He looked like a bored teenager who at any moment would pull out their ipod and just say "_whatever._"

Then realizing the time, he said, "Alright guys, you can go. See you next week."

His students quickly scurried to pack their things and go. Seems they had much more important places to be. While just as Neal had put all his papers away in his brief case and was ready to go home, his boss approaches him.

"Mr. Caffrey, I'm going to need to see those lesson plans of yours," he told Neal. He was a very distinguished-looking middle aged man.

Damn, Neal had never been the person who stuck to a rigid schedule. He just went along with the flow. It always went somewhere, right? That's precisely why he didn't exactly write one. There was a flexible outline in his head, but not on paper...

"Oh man, I must have left it on my kitchen table! I've been working on it over the entire weekend. Tell you what, I'll have it on your desk tomorrow." White lies never really hurt anyone.

Giving Neal that _look_, he said, "Alright, alright..."

With that, Neal grabbed his coat and left. Yet instead of taking the subway back to his apartment, Neal decided to walk back. The next train didn't arrive for another twenty minutes, and he didn't feel like waiting. The apartment wasn't that far away.

Walking onward, he became lost in his own thoughts. Neal hadn't forgotten his promise to Kate; he was going to make things better. This job was just the start of it. His starting salary was definitely much more generous than his last job's. With that, soon they could fix things up around their place, maybe even buy a few nice things here and there. He always knew Kate wanted to go to France, and he wanted to take her there some day.

While walking along 6th Avenue, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. What exactly was it? A rolex watch. Neal's eyes couldn't help but fixate on it. It was exactly the sort of thing you'd picture the elite, high-class men to be wearing. It's white gold dazzled underneath the fluorescent light. Then his eyes fell down to the price tag, and it was like someone had just bursted his fantasy bubble. His reaction was a mixture of dispiritedness, frustration, and disappointment. _Must be one hell of a watch._ Neal kept walking.

_What am I thinking? We'll never go to Paris. I'll never own such a watch. _

Was it so wrong to desire things you could possibly never have? He silently thought to himself... How did the rich do it? Inheritance? Innovation? Felony? Whichever it was, Neal Caffrey longed for the finer things in life.

...

Stepping into his dreary apartment, Neal was greeted by Kate.

Eyeing his appearance, she said, "You look like one of those old professors," referring to his apparent glasses and sweater vest.

"Occupational hazard," he tells her, half grinning. She laughed softly.

"So how'd it go?," Kate curiously inquires.

"College kids are difficult, but I think with time I can get the hang of it." Hearing a sound coming from the kitchen, he asked while gesturing to the adjacent room, "Who's in there?"

"Mozzie. He came by a little while ago looking for you."

Neal started walking over to the kitchen to greet his old friend. They'd known each other since college. Unfortunately - for fortunately depending on how you look at it - Mozzie had gotten involved with a lot of white collar crimes over the years. The man had dropped out of college, but he had a nice piece of change in his pocket. Although, because of that, Mozzie was often coming and going. One moment he's there, and the next he's gone in order to remain out of the FBI's sight.

His friend got up out of his seat and exclaimed, "Neal! It's time we christen your new place," denoting the bottle of wine he'd brought with him.

Neal just smiled in response.

...

"...and that's how we forged _The Scream_," Mozzie had told his two curious spectators, both equally as tipsy as he was.

"Amazing... and it's still hanging in the museum today?," Kate asked him.

"Ye--," he began to tell her but was inconveniently cut off by his cell phone. He quickly reached for it in his pocket and answered the call, while walking off towards the living room. His voice sounded a little distressed.

Kate turned to Neal, "Who do you think that is?" She was almost like a nosy child in the manner of which she asked.

"I have no clue," he told her, but all the while he had a pretty clear conception of just who it was. It was most definitely not a friendly affair.

Mozzie shut his phone and walked back into the kitchen. "Sorry about that. I hate to leave so abruptly, but something's come up. It's was nice seeing you both again."

"It was nice seeing you as well, Mozzie. You should stop over more often," Kate said friendlily.

"Take care, Moz," Neal said as his friend was leaving through the doorway. And as Neal closed the door, he silently thought to himself that he was glad he wasn't Mozzie tonight.

* * *

Finally! It's here! And it took forever! Ah, I'm so slow with this...

--Cynosist.


	3. Changes

_Changes_

_

* * *

_

After the end of a long day for Neal Caffrey, it was finally time to pack up and head home. Have you ever gotten that feeling after a day at school or work where all you can think about is going home? It practically consumes your thoughts, and you find yourself counting down the minutes to when you can leave. Yes, it was one of those days.

It had been several months now and it seemed things were actually improving. The apartment (finally) got a paint job. His students were (finally) showing life. And their savings were (finally) increasing. You could definitely say things were sailing smoothly and steadily.

Eagerly packing his papers away in his briefcase, he was stopped short by his boss - again.

"Mr. Caffrey, I need to have a word with you." From his tone of voice, it didn't exactly sound pleasant. It was a mixture between serious and regret.

_Maybe he just wanted those damn lesson plans again?_ Neal hated doing those things, such a waste of time...

"Yes?," Neal asked. With more consideration he realized, _No, it couldn't be that_.

With a slight hesitation as if trying to hold back the news, his boss had said, "It's truly my displeasure to inform you that..."

And it's funny, not in the hysterical way, how just one sentence can violently turn your world upside down. Sadly, that's just life, isn't it?

...

Neal lifelessly stepped into his apartment. _What am I going to do? ... Why couldn't it be about the lesson plans?_ He slowly and quietly shut the door behind him and dropped his brief case on the floor. Suddenly, it's weight was too heavy for him to carry. Neal walked over to the couch and his legs practically gave way. He couldn't stand any longer. Today's events just kept playing in his head continuously and no matter how much he wanted it to stop, he couldn't make it. Neal closed his eyes and let his head fall back.

"Neal, is that you?" Kate asked as she emerged from the bedroom. "Hey, you're home a little late. Anything exciting happen today with your college students?" While standing behind the couch, she wrapped her arms around him.

What could he possibly tell her? _'Oh yeah, hun, today went stupendously. Only I got laid off but that's okay. Everything will work out just fine, just you wait and see. I'll find other means of supporting us. Who needs jobs?' _Yet of course, he couldn't say that.

So he opted for the it's-obvious-something's-not-right-but-I'm-just-gonna-be-difficult-and-not-admit-to-it-at-first response.

"Nothing," he told Kate. But the truth was going to find it's path out one way or another.

She knew Neal better than that. He wasn't exactly the greatest liar. Neal's deep blue eyes and guilty tone of voice gave him away every time. She walked around the couch, sat next to him, and looked him straight in the eye. _He's lying_.

She asked Neal in a serious tone, "What happened?"

"No..." he began, and turned his head the other way. He couldn't bear to look at her, it was too much.

"You know you can tell me anything," she said while taking his face in her hands and gently turning him to look at her. Neal's eyes were bloodshot.

"I-- They laid me off today." Neal choked on his own words, and he had to swallow his tears. "Budge cuts, they said. Seems there's not enough to go around. I've a month's notice, but I have no idea if I can find another job..." At this point, he couldn't hold back any longer and the tears came streaming down his face. "I'm sorry." (See A/N)

Normally, Neal had not been the one to break down. He'd always kept his cool. But at that moment, he couldn't withstand his guilt. He knew he'd let Kate down, hard. Now what were they going to do? It was all his fault. _He_ was the provider, but what can you do when you can no longer provide?

"I should have worked harder... put more effort into it... made it more exciting for the students..." At this point he was just rambling on to himself.

Then Neal felt himself encompassed in Kate's arms, but he had also felt her sobbing too. The hug made him feel comforted. Her sobbing made him feel like more of a failure.

"I'm not breaking my promise to you," Neal brought up. It seemed he had never stopped thinking about that. "I'll figure out how to get us out of this." Yet he said this to not only console Kate, but also for himself.

Both just stayed there in each other's arms, with tears in their eyes and confusion of what would happen next.

...

Neal shifted his position in the bed, giving him a clear view of the clock. It was 2:18 AM. He glanced over at Kate. She was fast asleep. Figuring trying to sleep at this point was basically to no effect, he got up and went into the kitchen.

He took out a glass from the top cabinet and filled it with water from the tap. Downing it quickly, it seemed he couldn't quench his thirst. He poured himself a second glassful, but again he was still unsatisfied. The thought gnawed away at him and he realized what he had to do... rather, what he was going to do.

Neal found himself at the cabinet drawer below the microwave, pulling all the silverware out of it. _Why do we even have so much? It's not like we use it all at one time anyway..._ He came to the bottom (or so it seemed) of the drawer and pulled that out as well, revealing a concealed space. Inside lay a cell phone.

The phone was only supposed to be used for dire situations and this was most certainly one. The number was untraceable, which was precisely why he had given it to Neal. No need for someone unwanted to listen in.

For a moment, Neal thought about calling. It would change everything. Would the pros outweigh the cons? The answer he was unsure of. In fact, he was completely unsure of where this would lead, and how it would end. What other choice did he have? No one would hire him now, or even think about it. There was too much demand for jobs but not enough supply. Neal would definitely not be at the top of the list.

And then something else also flashed in his mind - or rather, someone. _Kate_. Wasn't it worth it for the one you loved? Wouldn't you do anything in your power for them? For Neal Caffrey, the answer to both those questions was a solid yes. That was enough.

He gulped nervously, and dialed the number.

The person on the other line picked up quickly, letting it ring only once. Without even saying hello, he said, "Why are you calling at such an hour? Don't you know people need to--," but he was interrupted.

"Listen, Moz. I know that wherever you are, it most definitely isn't 2 AM."

His friend had known him too well. Mozzie stayed silent, waiting for what it was that so important. Judging from the desperation in his voice, it sure as hell was important.

With a slight hesitation, Neal began, "I need to ask you something..."

* * *

Okay, I know the recession began in 2007 and according to the show he would've gotten arrested in '05 but I couldn't come up with a non-outlandish (keyword there) reason for him to get fired and not be able to find another job. So I'm bending things just a smidge.  
Secondly, I realize Neal is a bit OOC so far, but that's all on purpose.

--Cynosist.


	4. Crimes

_Crimes_

_

* * *

_

"You sure you want to go through with this?," asked Mozzie. "I mean, you can still back out now."

The two men were sitting in the parked car outside of the blatant rendezvous point. Not to be cliche, but it was of utmost importance to get in and out as quickly as possible.

"You know I can't do that," Neal answered to him, but there was a small, underlying tone of anxiety beneath his cool, clam, and collected surface.

Sensing that anxiety, he asked the man who seemed to be trembling in his interior, "You nervous?"

"Pssh, you kidding?," Neal had said, trying to brush Mozzie off his back. "It'll be simple. Go in with the painting, come out with the cash."

Mozzie, not an easily fooled man, hadn't believed his friend but decided there was no point in provoking him. There was no changing Neal's mind, as he was blinded by so-called "love" - something Mozzie had little faith in. It was the reason why he was still single to this day. Many people can't be trusted - a little thing he learned from his white collar crimes.

He shifted in his seat, turning around facing the back seats to pick a small object wrapped in a seemingly larger blanket. Turning around to face the front again, he unwrapped the object revealing it to be a small, yet fine painting.

"You know, this is really brilliant. You've copied his fluid brush strokes impeccably." Mozzie continued eyeing the painting up and down, scanning for any small imperfections. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say this was an original. You certainly have a talent," he had said to Neal, as if trying to give him that small bit of courage he lacked.

"Thanks," Neal replied, though he had nothing further to elaborate on as he was unusually quiet at that moment.

Unhooking his seat beat, Mozzie turned his head towards him and asked, "You ready?"

_No_. "Sure," Neal said. He nervously unhooked his seat belt and join his friend.

It was the beginning of his infamous white collar crime sprees.

...

The man adorned in the two-piece, single-breasted suit was Xavier Panetier, an art collector, and from what Neal could gather, he was certainly interested in this painting. Too bad that wasn't exactly what he was getting. Xavier had mentioned something to the man next to him, but Neal couldn't exactly make it out.

"So I see you brought the canvas," Xavier began. His beady eyes deeply scrutinizing the two men. "How much are you willing to part with it for?"

"How much are you willing to offer?," Mozzie asked in response.

The art collector replied, "Let's see if it's the original or not first, then we'll discuss the price."

Another one of Xavier's men was carefully looking over the painting, eyeing every detail down to the finest stroke of the brush. Neal, at this point, was killing himself on the inside, only thinking of the worst possible outcomes in this situation. Glancing at Mozzie, with a calm, yet stern expression on his face, he wondered how he kept his cool. Experience, perhaps...?

"Well?," Xavier asked. Clearly this man has no patience whatsoever.

"I'm not entirely sure. It looks authentic, but the creator of this could also be a skilled con artist," the man inspecting the painting had answered. The art collector was not pleased.

And that's when Neal had a real reason to be nervous. This had the potential to go down, quickly. His eyes glanced over to the exit, only to meet at the man Xavier had quietly been conversing with earlier. _So that's what he told him to do... dammit._ With no escape route, he realized was going to have to be a bit persuasive in this situation. Really, he just needed any kind of bull shit that would get them out of the matter at hand. He opened his mouth and let the words flow out.

"When you think about it, what upper hand would we have if it was a forgery?" And everyone's eyes shifted towards him. "I mean, you'd think that if we were going to sell to you, we'd know that someone of your status could spot a forgery blindfolded. Trying to sell one to you would be pushing our luck. It'd be pointless. Well, that's just a suggestive theory."

Xavier stood there in his own thoughts, quietly musing it over to himself. After a good five minutes, he finally opened his mouth and caved, "I'll give you $5000 for painting. But nothing higher than that."

"Well, sir, you've got yourself a deal," he said with that unmistakable smile of his.

...

Back in the car, Mozzie reached into his pocket, pulled out their payment, counted out $2500, and handed it to Neal. "I believe this is yours."

"Thanks," he said, with a wide grin on his face. Neal had to admit, money could make any situation better. Now the question arose, what should he spend it on?

"See, and you were nervous for nothing," Mozzie told him. "It all worked out."

"And the only reason it worked out was because of _me_," Neal shot back.

"Hey, hey, who's to say that I couldn't figure my way out if you weren't there? Need I say, it was _your_ forgery they were skeptical about. Speaking of which, where did _that_ come from?," he asked. "One moment you're about to pee in your pants, the next you're parading the field."

"Me? I wasn't nervous at all, it's just how I deal with stress," Neal replied, clearly lying through his teeth. "I knew what I was doing."

* * *

*Ahem* Hi. It's been a while...  
I found this chapter a bit difficult to write, I'll be honest. The whole time I was thinking, "Crap, what goes down in these sort of things?!" So yes, I think this chapter sounds as awkward as it was to write.  
Commentary, perhaps? Suggestions on what I can improve on?  
Oh, and thanks for reading :]

--Cynosist.


	5. Lies

_Lies_

_

* * *

_

Months past, as well did the crimes. But as far as Kate knew, Neal had gotten himself a job through an old friend of his. Which was, in reality, not entirely false. Neal was gone in the morning and back by five/six o'clock. Yet instead of "working," Neal and Mozzie were either planning their next spree, actually committing the act, or occasionally relaxing from a long day's "hard work." And from certain perspectives, that _could_ be considered working - if you bended it just a smidge. Nevertheless, in the long run things were just fine.

However, the webs we knit cannot be bound together perpetually.

...

Kate Moreau had been vacuuming the apartment that afternoon. They don't happen to clean themselves, now do they? She lifelessly cleaned the dust while consciously, she was lost in thought. Truth be told, she was tired of it. Tired of being the lower class, tired of this drab apartment, tired of _everything_. Why was money the driving force for everything? The reason countless are murdered, the reason people go to such lengths. Even she desired it, because it was that one thing that guaranteed her passage out of there.

_Money_. It even sounded good. No, it wasn't greed. It was just her ticket to survival, her ticket to sanity.

While on her knees vacuuming underneath the bed, a glimmer of something caught her eye. Rather, it was a box. Now, there was tons of useless clutter underneath there, just collecting dust, but she knew that clutter. In each of those boxes, she could identify what exactly was in it, as she was the one who placed them there months ago. You could call it an "_organized_ mess." Yet this was different. It was something she didn't recognize, or at least not yet...

She pulled the box out from underneath the bed, a bit heavier than she had initially anticipated. Being that she hadn't recognized it at first, she knew this was something of Neal's. But also being that they lived together, she had a right to know the contents of it.

Slowly lifting the lid off of it, what was inside brought many ideas to her mind. It was the exact thing she least expected, but desired most - and there was quite a bit of it. _Where did this come from?_ Yes, that was a good place to start. But why had he been hiding it?

Now sitting on the bed, Kate slowly counted out each bill in the box, still in awe. With each passing dollar, she thought hard about just taking it all and running. It wasn't a terrible plan, really. She tilted her head towards the clock that lay on the nightstand. It was 5:27PM.

...

Neal Caffrey walked into his apartment at 6:13PM, completely unaware of the events that lay ahead of him.

"Hun, I'm home," he called out, but got no response. "Kate?," he called out once more, this time a bit louder, figuring she might not have heard him the first time. He looked around a bit. She wasn't in the kitchen, or the living room...

Walking into the bedroom, he spotted her. "Hey, there you a--" And his voice fell as he saw what lay next to her. _I knew I should have hidden that better. Dammit._

"I found it, while cleaning under our bed. Eleven thousand dollars and sixty-two cents. I counted it out," Kate began, not even looking up at him. Her voice was filled with neither anger nor disenchantment. "Funny, I knew we were doing better around here, as opposed to when you first lost your job. But I guess I didn't realize how well we were doing." At this point, she was looking at him straight in the eye, her face showing almost no emotion at all.

"I-- I can explain that," Neal said, stuttering slightly on his words. She was in actuality his one true weakness. He was doing this all for her, wasn't he? It seemed she had somewhat of a notion of that, and was prepared to use it. The room was quiet for a few moments, but Kate's fierce eyes made up for the lack of noise.

And a soft murmur was heard, "I want in."

* * *

And so ends chapter five, a short one at that. Yes, I know, that was a bit of a character change. But this was after I saw Hard Sell, so it kind of changed my perspective of Kate a bit. I guess we'll have to wait and see on that one.

Also, to those who are wondering, no. I'm not giving up on this fanfiction. I'd really like to finish it. I'm just slow to update.

--Cynosist


	6. Author's Note

*Ahem*

Yes, I'm still alive xD And no, this story hasn't been completely abandoned. I plan on re-writing it from the ground up (the more I look at it, the more I hate it -_-). When I get to re-posting everything, I'm not quite sure. But this story WILL get an ending, I promise ^^


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